I, Rammerhttps://irammer.wordpress.com
A kind of intimacy.Tue, 14 Aug 2018 21:06:54 +0000enhourly1http://wordpress.com/https://secure.gravatar.com/blavatar/f4b85b27b91df52fbb3e8e3436021372?s=96&d=https%3A%2F%2Fs0.wp.com%2Fi%2Fbuttonw-com.pngI, Rammerhttps://irammer.wordpress.com
Mother of All Creation, One Day All Timehttps://irammer.wordpress.com/2015/05/10/mother-of-all-creation-one-day-all-time/
https://irammer.wordpress.com/2015/05/10/mother-of-all-creation-one-day-all-time/#respondSun, 10 May 2015 02:25:00 +0000http://irammer.wordpress.com/?p=185Continue reading →]]>Today I’m celebrating motherhood by bestowing little gifts to all you Mothers.

MOTHER OF ALL CREATION, ONE DAY ALL TIME

To all that bears fruit of the next,
may this day be but a remembrance to you first
one day for all time that’s born
born all time to no end
yet always a start
because you, woman, exist
and if there are as of yet
no fruit or sap, firsting to be
don’t you see,
that man breathes your life
and basks under one reaching tree
mother of love, and so it begins

END

Happy Mother’s Day

]]>https://irammer.wordpress.com/2015/05/10/mother-of-all-creation-one-day-all-time/feed/0irammerFunny thing about our basic concepts, a dreamhttps://irammer.wordpress.com/2015/01/04/funny-thing-about-our-basic-concepts-a-dream/
https://irammer.wordpress.com/2015/01/04/funny-thing-about-our-basic-concepts-a-dream/#respondSun, 04 Jan 2015 02:12:00 +0000http://irammer.wordpress.com/?p=183Continue reading →]]>I had a dream last night that I was in an alien planet. Imagine Bonao, from the Dominican Republic, or Maní, with a dash of Iraq; very desert-like, but with villages or small towns that makes if feel Earth-like. The aliens seem carbon-based, but also a bit plastic.

I stood there, in one of the streets, I can see it’s the middle of its day, almost noon, but the places are closed, like a strike happened. It wasn’t a strike. I’m in a place where there’s a war going on.

Still, I see kids playing ball (football-type, football as in soccer). I see people going inside their homes. I tried talking to someone, but I get closed tinned shutters. I meet one boy, well, a guy, a dude, seems younger than me, but of some age. (Funny enough, as a fellow carbon-based human, I can somehow get a sense of their age)

Picture quadcopter AR Drones hovering every once in a while, surveying, bombs going off in the distance, and not so distant. These are alien ships from the other side of the war. I seem to be in the short end of the war.

The ‘dude’ invites me to huddle in what I can translate as an abandoned cafe or cafeteria. No one’s there except a hand of his pals. I see that one or two of them are not his friends but work together for the common survival. The one he doesn’t get along with seem to have gear and tendril-like cables, a helmet. The ceiling is woodwork, so because the scaffold being ripped by wind from the warring ships, we can see patches of the ships without being noticed.

I’m utterly horrified! But I make myself relax by seeing how relaxed everyone else is. They seem nice enough too. Who cares what kind of alien I am as long as I’m with them.

And just like that, the dude, the one guy I can see myself being friends with, is zapped. Just like that. He shriveled into a shard of plastic sheet. I carried him, laying him on a table like a ripped napkin.

I begin to cry. I tell the rest that he was the closest thing to a friend in this planet. And just like he got zapped, one of the guys slams his hand, palm to the plastic. BAM! Without a hitch, he says “He’s dead. Crying for the dead is useless.”

I saw their faces, their vitriol reactions to my reaction. This whole sinking feeling got to me, that their words and faces aren’t doing their culture, their morals, and their situation justice, that there’s way more than this surface level of the concept of the dead and that I have my work cut out. I get this unnerving feeling that as part of the human race I’m getting the concept of death wrong, not in a basic level but in it’s complicated filigree.

I wake up from my dream with a new scope in life!

And now I’m sharing it to you. There are so many variations to the concept of death. My dream was an alien dream that taught me that I must remain open to the fact that I, that us, don’t have all the answers, even if we see them in all the examples “on Earth” as common. The concept does not end or begin on Earth. The concept itself is alien.

]]>https://irammer.wordpress.com/2015/01/04/funny-thing-about-our-basic-concepts-a-dream/feed/0irammerNeon Batman in New York Cityhttps://irammer.wordpress.com/2015/01/03/neon-batman-in-new-york-city/
https://irammer.wordpress.com/2015/01/03/neon-batman-in-new-york-city/#respondSat, 03 Jan 2015 02:06:00 +0000http://irammer.wordpress.com/?p=181Continue reading →]]>I’m sitting on the train. The man in front of me is wearing a neon Batman shirt with type (lettering) that looks Korean or Taiwanese (it’s all designy and abstracted, so :-P). I’m guessing it says “Batman”. I think “Neon shirt? Definite foreigner.” He is obviously within the thralls of either sightseeing hard! or from a serious hangout from where the only friends he got in NYC stay. He moves, eyes closed, in dreamland, slops to the front, shoulder to the pole, anchoring it, and his dreamland-infested subconscious churns the muscles of his face into a smile. He must feel comfy. He slops a bit more, pivoted by the pole, a rotating slop. That’s when I see his headphones clinging to his ears like they were claws from a Batarang, his iPhone dangling like a damsel in distress. I tap him on the knee firmly. He looks up. I point. He totes. Thumbs up. Thumbs up.

He came from dreamland, still a bit disoriented, but was so comfy that his eyes begin to close. His eyes open in silent alarm. He curiously looks out of the traincar’s window. It’s his stops! He jets! Before the last bit where I can see of him, by the frame of the traincar door he shoots back towards the inside of the traincar door a “thumbs up”! I, within the thralls of the drunken and the troopers, the late-workers and misplaced souls, clap like as if I’m saying “And there it is everybody!” …Crickets.

]]>https://irammer.wordpress.com/2014/12/30/hearts-sets-in-his-eyes/feed/0irammerhearts in eyes@Rammerammer: Recall your Nightmarehttps://irammer.wordpress.com/2014/12/29/rammerammer-recall-your-nightmare/
https://irammer.wordpress.com/2014/12/29/rammerammer-recall-your-nightmare/#respondMon, 29 Dec 2014 01:59:25 +0000http://irammer.wordpress.com/?p=171
If you can’t recall your nightmare, it’s not a nightmare. A bad dream is bad indeed, but a nightmare is hell in a dream; you’ll never forget it.
]]>https://irammer.wordpress.com/2014/12/29/rammerammer-recall-your-nightmare/feed/0irammer@RammerammerArt is the Youest You You Can You 001https://irammer.wordpress.com/2014/12/24/art-is-the-youest-you-you-can-you-001/
https://irammer.wordpress.com/2014/12/24/art-is-the-youest-you-you-can-you-001/#respondWed, 24 Dec 2014 17:04:33 +0000http://irammer.wordpress.com/?p=161

]]>https://irammer.wordpress.com/2014/12/24/art-is-the-youest-you-you-can-you-001/feed/0irammerArt is......the youest YOU you can you. ~RammerThe Tale is Youhttps://irammer.wordpress.com/2014/12/23/the-tale-is-you/
https://irammer.wordpress.com/2014/12/23/the-tale-is-you/#respondTue, 23 Dec 2014 16:53:52 +0000http://irammer.wordpress.com/?p=159Continue reading →]]>“So here my Lady”, he gives her a note with a name and a number, “Drop me a line or a verse or two. Throw me a thought pebble, or a boulder, I’d read it through, as if it were my most favorite scribe, saddled on your words, my gaze will stride, not because you are the author, but because the tale is you.”
]]>https://irammer.wordpress.com/2014/12/23/the-tale-is-you/feed/0irammerHappy last day of National Poetry Month 2014!https://irammer.wordpress.com/2014/04/30/happy-last-day-of-national-poetry-month-2014/
https://irammer.wordpress.com/2014/04/30/happy-last-day-of-national-poetry-month-2014/#respondWed, 30 Apr 2014 18:34:55 +0000http://irammer.wordpress.com/?p=157

I did it for #NPM14. Hope you had lots of great poetry in your life this past month.

I inverted the picture for a reason. I hope you dig it.

]]>https://irammer.wordpress.com/2014/04/30/happy-last-day-of-national-poetry-month-2014/feed/0irammerHappy last day of National Poetry Month 2014!Cellphone Writinghttps://irammer.wordpress.com/2013/11/15/cellphone-writing/
https://irammer.wordpress.com/2013/11/15/cellphone-writing/#respondFri, 15 Nov 2013 21:23:34 +0000http://irammer.wordpress.com/?p=150Continue reading →]]>Yea, I bust words from my phone, either with my phone’s touchpad keyboard on the move or my trusty Targus very portable and very bluetooth keyboard… On the move’s quick respites.

So far, all my writing in I, RAMMER have been done this way. I particularly want it this way to give the blog the feeling that it’s a tree in the passing wind, with each post as a leaf caught by it.

]]>https://irammer.wordpress.com/2013/11/15/cellphone-writing/feed/0irammerIMG_0802.jpgArt is the Youest You You can You.https://irammer.wordpress.com/2013/10/04/art-is-the-youest-you-you-can-you/
https://irammer.wordpress.com/2013/10/04/art-is-the-youest-you-you-can-you/#respondFri, 04 Oct 2013 11:04:29 +0000http://irammer.wordpress.com/?p=126Continue reading →]]>

Art is the youest you you can you.

Last July I wrote something that relates to the quote above. Aside from the blasphemy of beginning a post with a double quote, it stands to marry the two if only to illustrate, if not illuminate, the just power and natural beauty of art, poetry, and you. Here’s the other little quote:

In your art, if you bend light & shadow just right, in just the way you want it, you are basically immortalizing yourself, traveling at the speed of light to the future, forever you.

Yes. You are this. You are a living art that channels that which is most divine. Divine in its sense of rarity and brevity from the seemingly endlessness of time and space. You are indeed as divine as time and as space. If we are alone in this universe, think about just how unique your mind, and correlatively, you are.

If you don’t yet see this as a basic reality, consider the infinitude of your mind. You have billions of brain cells, with over 300 trillion possible combinations of synapses. They’re all modules mounted in your cave that is your skull, in a lattice-like interrelational, dynamic configuration, all at your disposal, tied to all your senses and all that is you.

I’ll put it another way, consider this: the multiverse is real. As real as the place you’re in now. Infinity (as well as nothing) is real. Physically real, just as you are real. That means there is an infinite amount of you out in the multiverse, some so completely unlike you you might not recognize yourself, some just ever so slightly different you would have a hard time finding the differences between yourselves. Infinite amounts of you out there, one of which you get to be Batman. Isn’t that something? But I’ll tell you this, this doesn’t mean, no even one iota, that you’re meaningless. In fact, I posit the extreme opposite. This means just how special you are, because if I gather all the yous in the multiverse in one room, they would agree that you’re unique. None of the other yous out there aren’t quite like you. You’re the best at being who you are. So anything you do, any message you deliver, is going to be the most uniquely and rare thread you would weave. Mind your shine.

You can rein control of your thoughts, ergo actions and emotions, in spite of how hard it may be. This is a paramount ability that begs you to wonder the majesty of it all. If we are alone, we are the few blessed ones who molt experience pedals, our minds, infinite flowers. Us using 10% of our brains myth be damned!

Poetry and art are reflections of all this. It is you edited, yes, but at the same time it is you rarified, crystallized by all that is you. And still, it is edited and rehearsed and honed, but all this is done by you for you. You do these things to have your art and your poetry as youest as you can muster. It is you being courteous to the world and universe, consider it, without sacrificing your sense of being and integrity. It is you putting your best foot forward, to the rest of time. You, sifting through the weight and cancer, leaving no filter that hinders and keeping those that augment your vision. You get to form yourself a star with the shine of your design. This act is a testament to your openness to letting yourself transcend to the unknown, evolving yourself and your being.

It gives me joy that others see this or have already seen this. Lately I’ve been seeing lots of signs that tells me I’m not the only one feeling this way. Here are just a few examples. Enjoy:

All New X-Men #7, pg 12. 2013 Marvel

Here is a bit of conversation I’ve had with a friend on Facebook that seem fitting: